


Never Too Late

by pennywashburne



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennywashburne/pseuds/pennywashburne
Summary: Richie still looks nineteen, and after a decade in Seacouver, people have noticed. It's time to start fresh, but leaving Angie behind turns out to be harder than he expected.
Relationships: Angie Burke/Richie Ryan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17
Collections: Richie Ryan Forever





	Never Too Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [LadySilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver) in the [RichieRyanForever](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/RichieRyanForever) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>    
> Richie finally accepts that he has to say goodbye to his mortal friends and leave Seacouver for a generation. His friends aren't so willing to let him go.

# 

Never Too Late

## 

1.

They held his going away party at Joe’s. It wasn’t much, just a few friends Richie had made managing Mac’s dojo, a few from the local racing circuit, and one really good friend from the old neighborhood. 

Richie leaned back in his chair and surveyed the tables they had snagged. Everyone was laughing and drinking. It was a good time. Angie was talking animatedly to one of the dojo’s long time customers, telling some story Richie knew he’d heard before. She caught him watching her and smiled, tucking her hair behind one ear and biting her lip just like she always did when she was a little embarrassed.

He grinned back, happy that she had come. Of all the people gathered here, Angie was the one he’d miss the most, but after a decade his nineteen year old looks were starting to cause problems. People commented. Even Angie had mentioned it a few times.

He needed to move on, and to be honest, the thought of starting fresh excited Richie. He’d been following after MacLeod for too long. He wanted to do _his_ thing now. Not that he knew what his thing was, but Richie was sure he’d find it eventually. Maybe he’d try college or start a band or learn to fly planes or something equally awesome that his alcohol addled brain couldn’t come up with right now.

But still, even with the promise of a new life and a new and improved Richie Ryan, or actually, Jack Miller if you went with what was on his papers, it was bittersweet. He wouldn’t be able to saunter down to Joe’s when he wanted a little camaraderie from someone in the know, and he’d never call to harass Angie into seeing the horror movies she hated or talk to her for hours sitting on the steps of her apartment building.

Why they’d never given it a try was a mystery to him. They'd been friends since the third grade, and even though they’d seen other people, lived other places, they always ended up right back in each other’s orbit, sharing the good times and bitching about the bad.

He stood up and grabbed Angie’s empty glass. She nodded when he pointed at it but didn’t stop listening to the guy telling what was obviously a tall tale given the amount of hand gestures involved. Richie bellied up to the bar and ordered another round from Mike, catching sight of the man’s Watcher tattoo. He should stop lying to himself. Richie knew exactly why they hadn’t ever tried to date. It wasn’t timing or lack of chemistry. Angie was the best, and he wasn’t about to drag her into Immortal business by making her a target. He’d excused himself from more dinners and hang out sessions when things got romantic than he really wanted to remember.

That thought threatened to sink his mood, but Richie pushed it aside with practice. There was nothing he could do about it, so he forced a smile as he sat back down, handing Angie her bourbon on the rocks. He had to hand it to the woman, she could drink almost anyone in the bar under the table.

Her hair was pulled back at the top, but it fell in loose waves over her shoulders. She had gold hoops in her ears and wore a flowered dress with a leather jacket. Old habits died hard, and Angie wasn’t giving up the biker life for anyone. She had long ago decided riding on the back of a bike was for the birds and had purchased her own. They had whiled away plenty of weekends exploring the backroads of Seacouver together.

Eventually, the laughter and stories turned to goodbyes as people began to leave. The numbers slowly dwindled until it was just he and Angie, staring at each other across a bottle of Maker’s Mark that had somehow found its way to the table. She watched him lazily with an air of inebriation that lent itself to deep conversation rather than sloppiness. “So you’re really leaving, huh?”

Richie watched his glass as he rolled it along the edge of its base, letting the liquor and ice slosh to the side. “Yep.” He glanced up at Angie, trying to gauge her reaction.

“It’s the end of an era.” She smiled at him, a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “Who will open their mouth and get me into trouble, once you’re gone?”

He laughed at that. He’d like to say she was wrong, but she really wasn’t. “Any hotshot loudmouth will do, it doesn’t have to be me.”

She grinned at that. “Where do I find those though? Do they sell them in the store?”

God, he was going to miss this with her. It must have shown on his face because her smile dimmed a little, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start with the sadness, Ryan.” Angie blinked a little faster than she had been, glancing at the ceiling for a few seconds. “You’ll make my mascara run.”

“You know how to use make up?” He put just the right amount of disbelief into his tone to make her crack a smile.

“Shut up. I’m trying to say something meaningful. Or memorable.” She waved her hand, trying to come up with the word. “Or something.” Her eyes were serious when she looked at him, “Richie, you’ve always had my back, and I am so grateful for your friendship. Here’s to the next chapter.” She raised her glass of bourbon to tap his, then downed it in one swallow, standing up in a much smoother motion than she should be capable of.

“I have to go. I’ve got work in the morning.” Angie leaned down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Take care, Richie Ryan.”

Richie stood up as well, hugging Angie tightly, “You too, okay?”

She nodded, hesitating as if she wanted to say more, but then headed for the door and her cab.

Richie watched her walk out, then poured himself a double and sat down, trying to remember all of the really good reasons he was leaving.

## 

2.

Bartending and Watching went hand in hand, something Joe knew from experience. Both jobs were thankless, had shitty hours, and they both allowed you to see things other people didn’t. For instance, from behind the bar as he was cleaning up, Joe got to watch Richie pondering the weight of the world at a corner table, and at the exact same time, on the monitor he kept by the register, he got to see Angie’s cab leave and come back. Twice. The second time his security cameras saw her get out of the cab and walk to the door. She stood there for several heartbeats, then turned away, getting back into the empty cab.

He watched her on the screen, wondering if he should say something to Richie, but the kid was leaving town for a reason, so he let it go. Joe didn’t want to make the decision any harder than it had to be.

  
A week later, Joe came out of his office from doing what felt like hours of paperwork to find a woman sitting at the bar morosely nursing her drink. Mike caught his eye and gestured toward her. Curious, Joe went to investigate, his tread heavy on the wooden floor. It was early afternoon, but a bottle of bourbon had been left by her glass. She sat with her head in one hand, staring at the bottles and glasses behind the bar without really seeing them.  


She looked up as he approached, and he was surprised to find Angie looking back at him. Her eyes were red, and weariness pulled at her face. She’d obviously done some quick clean up of her mascara to appear presentable, but she hadn’t quite gotten everything. She smiled at him and attempted to look cheerful, “Hey, Joe.” 

“Angie, how are you?” He glanced around the room, she was the only one in the place except for the staff.

“Oh, you know. Fine.” She picked up the bottle and poured herself another. “Just got back from a trip to Portland.”

“Portland?” A sinking feeling came over Joe, but he tried to play it off. “Portland, huh? What’s in Portland?”

“Nothing apparently.” Angie’s voice was bitter. “Nothing and no one.”

“Oh?”

_Well, shit. He hadn’t expected this to drop in his lap._

She set her glass down with force. “There’s definitely no Richie Ryan in Portland. Especially not at the address he gave me.” She leaned forward, “You know who’s there, Joe? An old lady who is 95 if she’s a day.” She tapped the bar with her finger, “That’s who’s there.”

_Jesus, Rich. You gave her an address?_

Joe picked up a glass and a towel and started wiping the water stains from it. “Maybe you wrote it down, wrong?”

“No.” Angie shook her head. “He wrote it down, and only after I harassed him for days.” She pinned him with a demanding look, “What did he tell _you_?”

Joe just shook his head and shrugged, “He told me the same things he told you. He said he was moving to Portland.” That was at least partially true. Richie had let Joe in on his cover story, but Richie wasn’t in Portland, nor had he ever planned to be.

“His phone is disconnected.” The anger in her voice had faded, and now she just sounded lost. “I tried calling, but-” She shook her head.

“Did you drive there today?” She nodded at his question, looking down at her hands. That was an eight hour drive round trip. He glanced at the bottle and took note of her pallor. “Have you eaten anything?” He gestured to the menu in it’s little stand in front of her. “I can get you something.” He gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile. “On the house.”

She smiled gratefully, “No. Thank you. I don’t think I can eat right now.”

Joe glanced at the bottle she was making her way through and opened his mouth to comment when the phone rang.

He picked it up on the second ring, after checking the ID, “Hey, Mac.” Angie’s eyes narrowed at his use of MacLeod’s name. She listened to the conversation with her head tilted ever so slightly, sitting straighter as he hung up the phone.

“Guys night, huh?” She studied him as he answered.

“Uh, yeah, I guess you could call it that. MacLeod wants to check out some fancy restaurant on the wharf tonight.” Joe shrugged, “Not my style, but he’s paying, so why not?”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” She started to rummage through her purse, pulling out enough bills to cover her drinks. “I should probably get home. It’s been a long day. Lemme know if you hear from Richie, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Joe watched her as she walked out the door, suspicious of her sudden change in attitude. She’d looked ready to warm that chair all day.

She waved to him, then stepped out into the sunlight, the door swinging shut sharply behind her.

## 

3.

Angie was having a rough day. The news that Richie wasn’t in Portland hadn’t been a complete surprise, not after all the effort she’d had to go to just to get his new address, but it had been a disappointment. Part of her was hoping that she’d been wrong. That she’d been making it up in her head, but somewhere deep down, she knew her suspicions were true. It’s just that sometimes it was easier to pretend.

She’d known Richie was into something he shouldn’t be for years now. At first, she’d thought MacLeod was a blessing. He’d hired Richie after that stupid break-in and given him a shot at something legit. Now though, she was pretty sure that MacLeod had just drawn Richie into something bigger and more dangerous. Who bundled their teenage shopkeeper off to France for months at a time? And who put them in charge of their businesses?

Nothing about the situation had seemed to make sense, but Angie had held her tongue because Richie was mostly happy and healthy, and he seemed at least marginally safe, which was ten times more than she could say about any of the other assholes they’d grown up with. Drugs, gangs, domestic abuse, alcoholism. You name it, and she could point to a face in her yearbook that had gone down for it. So Richie operating on the other side of the law hadn’t been a deal breaker. At least not for friendship.

But friendship wasn't what either of them wanted. She saw it in his eyes when he walked her home after dinner or a movie. There was always that moment when people on a real date would kiss and say goodbye or maybe kiss and go upstairs. That moment always came and passed awkwardly for them. Angie would be sure to stand a little too far away, and Richie would reach for her, but settle for a hand on her shoulder.

It was ridiculous and torturous, and yet they both kept coming back for more, because above everything else, they were friends. They each knew where the other came from, and sometimes you just wanted to stop pretending to be something you weren't for a few goddamn minutes. At least that's how Angie felt.

But Angie had heard their story before, and she'd seen too many smart friends brought low because of a guy with bad connections. As much as she cared for Richie, she hadn’t been willing to let whatever he was into swallow her up.

Until he left.

Because when he left, Angie realized that all the time they’d spent not kissing, or touching, or screwing, didn’t actually matter. She was in love with him anyway, and her life was all tangled up in his. So she’d grabbed his address, jumped on her bike and ridden the four hours to Portland to tell him just that. To tell him that she could handle his secrets, whatever they were, and that they could stop pushing each other away.

But she was too late.

Richie wasn’t in Portland, and Angie had no idea where he could have gone. But MacLeod knew. She’d bet money on it. Angie had camped out about a block from the dojo, but in sight of MacLeod’s fancy car, so she’d know when he left. She’d donned a too-large hoodie that hid her face and sat listening to music on her ipod.

A few minutes to six, MacLeod appeared, walking across the street wearing his coat despite the heat. He got into the driver’s seat of the T-bird and pulled out into traffic. He never even looked Angie’s way.

She stared at the building for a minute, trying to work up the nerve for what she was about to do. At the least she was risking an awkward moment, at the most, well, maybe MacLeod was the kind who didn’t call the police when he had a problem to take care of. Gathering her resolve, she slipped across the street to the dojo. The front entrance was no good, because Angie didn’t want to use the elevator. Instead she cut around the back to the stairs leading up to the second floor.

Her heart was beating fast, but she tried to keep calm. If she stayed focused, she could get in and out with no one the wiser. At the top of the stairs, Angie paused. Richard H. Ryan wasn’t the only street kid who could pick a lock, but it had been a minute since she’d last done it. Angie wasn’t ashamed to admit that she’d practiced on her own door before she started out on this adventure.

The lock refused to open the first time, but the second time she tried, the knob turned freely and the door swung open. MacLeod’s place was not at all what she had expected, not after seeing the bedroom he’d kept with Tessa. It was simpler, but still filled with fine things. A huge bed took up one side of the room, a kitchen and the elevator were on the opposite wall, and a large sitting area completed the room. Above her hung a sculpture that Angie knew she’d seen before, and she had to wonder if it was something Tessa had made.

She took a second to orient herself and to decide where MacLeod might keep an address book. The phone seemed like a good place to start, so she poked through the items on the table nearby, looking for anything with Richie’s name on it, or even just an address by itself. She had plenty of time, but she watched the clock, feeling like the seconds were ticking by faster than normal. Angie crossed the room to open the armoire that stood against the wall, when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You passed up cash, a gold watch, and some very valuable art work to rifle through MacLeod’s mail.” Angie spun around to find a tall, thin woman dressed in black with cropped blonde hair. “You’re a very poor thief, if that’s what you are.” 

Angie had to make sure her heart hadn’t _actually_ jumped out of her chest. The woman started forward, something predatory in the way she moved, and Angie had to make herself stay put, “I’m not here to steal anything.”

“Really? You made short work of that door." she paused, "Oh, are you a stalker then?” The woman came close, seizing Angie’s arm and turning it to look at her wrist. Whatever she was looking for didn’t seem to be there, so she allowed Angie to pull away, backing up to put a few steps between them.

“I’m not a stalker.” She circled around, trying to make her way back to the door. “I’ll just go.”

The woman tsked at her, “Not until you answer my questions.” Suddenly the door was blocked by her lithe frame. “Let me ask more directly. Why are you here?”

"Why are _you_ here?" Angie crossed her arms and glared at the woman.

"Oh, _very_ good.Turn the tables, try to get me on the defensive." Whoever she was, she was not intimidated by Angie's bitchy attitude. "With a little practice, you might be good at this," The woman smiled at Angie, her red lips twisting into a smirk, "but you don't get to break into Duncan's home without answering questions."

No one called the man Duncan. It was always Mac or MacLeod. Angie glanced at the giant bed, it wasn't too hard to guess what kind of relationship the man had with her interrogator.

This was turning into a giant mess. All it would take was a phone call to bring MacLeod and Joe back to the loft, and all chances of her getting the truth would be gone.

"Look," Angie straightened her shoulders. "I'm not stealing, and I'm not a stalker. A friend of mine disappeared, and I think MacLeod knows where he is. I'm just looking for information."

"Well, why didn't you just ask him?" The woman was curious, "Breaking & Entering seems a little extreme."

Her frustration got the better of her, and Angie snapped at the woman, "He's not going to answer me! Just like the damn bartender didn't answer me!"

"Bartender? You mean, Joe?" The woman's brow wrinkled. "Who are you looking for? Why would Joe know about them?"

"Because they're buddies." Angie ran a hand through her hair. She'd been so close to an answer. If only this woman hadn't shown up. "Buddies who are into something illegal or dangerous or whatever. And now Richie's disappeared, and no one will talk to me."

"Richard?" The woman's demeanor softened, "You're looking for Richard?"

Angie blinked. "Richie, yeah."

## 

4.

Amanda had planned to breeze into town, surprise Duncan with a few excitingly memorable nights, then breeze back out again. Instead, she'd stumbled on a would-be thief rummaging through Duncan's things.

Only, she wasn't a thief. Amanda watched the woman standing across from her with careful eyes, and she didn't seem like a threat. She was too small for the hoodie she wore, and it made her look younger than she actually was. Amanda held out her hand, "Let's start over. I'm Amanda, a friend of Richie’s."

The young woman was suspicious, but she shook hands, "Angie."

There was a story here, and Amanda wanted to hear it. She took Angie's arm and led her to the sitting area. "We'll sit, and you can tell me about it."

Angie perched on the edge of her chair, looking like she was ready for MacLeod to come bursting in at any moment.

“Relax. They’ll be gone for hours.” Amanda sank onto Duncan’s sofa.

Angie snorted, “That’s what I thought before, then you walked in.”

Amanda ignored her, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“For all I know you’re in it with them.” Angie wasn’t going to be moved so easily.

Amanda sighed, “I could call Duncan to come home right now. Or you can give me a chance. Richie is a dear friend.” She put on her most concerned face, “So you think Richie’s into something bad?”

Angie studied her for a moment, then relented, acknowledging that Amanda had the upper hand.

“Don't you?” Angie leaned forward earnestly. “Look, I've known Richie since the third grade. I know when he's lying. He lies for MacLeod and does anything MacLeod asks. I mean, who let's a 19 year old sell their business for them?” She gestured adamantly with both hands. “Strangers show up, and he leaves with them at the drop of a hat. He had to get out of Europe practically overnight for some reason he won’t talk about. It’s fishy. All of it.”

Amanda nodded sagely as if she was listening. Of course Angie was right. They were all hiding something. And covering for each other. But Amanda was thinking of Richie. This girl was perceptive and bold. They'd known each other for years, and she cared enough to commit a misdemeanor for him. Amanda approved. 

And Duncan would probably tell the boy to stay far away. Or maybe not. He had taken up with Tessa for a dozen years, after all. Amanda decided not to leave it up to chance, but she wanted to know a few things first.

“So if he’s into such awful things, why aren’t you glad to be rid of him?” Amanda studied Angie as she answered.

“Because I’ve known him since the third grade. I know he’s a good guy.” Her words were sincere.

“So you’re trying to rescue him.” Amanda nodded as if she finally understood something.

“No! I’m not stupid.” Angie was a little indignant. “I just- I want the chance to tell him that whatever it is I can deal with it. Before I thought I couldn’t, but now-” Angie subsided. She blinked a little, and had to clear her throat. “I tried to find him, but he’s gone. He disappeared.” She looked at Amanda, her voice certain, “But I know he wouldn’t leave without telling MacLeod where he was going.”

Amanda smiled at Angie. She’d heard enough, “I think I can help.” Amanda held up a hand as Angie started to speak. “But I need three things in exchange. First, no questions, second, you can’t tell anyone you saw me, much less that I gave you anything.” Amanda got up to grab her phone and a pen and paper. She searched her phone for a minute, then wrote a few lines.

Angie took the paper with wide eyes. “You know where he is?”

“Ah, ah.” Amanda shook her finger at the other woman, “No questions.”

Angie swallowed, staring at the address she’d been given. She looked up to meet Amanda’s eyes, “And the third thing?”

Amanda smiled broadly and tapped the paper, “The phone number is mine. Call me and tell me how it goes.”

## 

5.

The fall leaves swirled around his feet as he walked. Richie adjusted the bag he was carrying and stopped to check the mail before turning up his driveway. He flipped through bills and advertisements as the gravel crunched under his feet. He'd only been in school for a few weeks, but the amount of mail the University had sent him was ridiculous.

The decision to go to school had been difficult. The idea of being a student again made Richie anxious, but if he was going to stick around in this world, he needed to start thinking about the future.

A sound on the porch made him look up, already reaching for his sword. Standing on the front steps of the little house he’d rented was Angie. She looked angry. Very angry. “It’s funny, this doesn’t _look_ like Portland.”

He stopped in shock, blinking at her presence. “Angie.” His bag slid to the ground, the books inside making a hollow thump. Richie let the mail drop as he strode toward her, pausing a few inches away, trying to get his brain to make sense out of what he was seeing.

“How-” 

To hell with it, that didn’t matter. He put a hand up to touch her face, then did what he’d been thinking about since that night in Joe’s bar. He leaned in and kissed her. A pissed off Angie was not something to be toyed with, but he caught her off guard, and after a few seconds of feeble protest, she kissed him back, her arms wrapping around him tightly. It wasn’t long before they were leaning on the front door, well on their way to something that needed to be taken inside.

Angie broke away, and stuck her finger in his face, flushed and slightly out of breath. “If you think for one second, that this gets you out of an explanation, you are wrong, Ryan.” 

He nodded at her and tried to kiss her again, but she kept talking. “I mean it, no more secrets, Richie.”

He paused, and met her eyes seriously. “I’ll tell you everything, Angie. I promise.”

She searched his face and must have found what she was looking for, because she kissed him again, then whispered hoarsely, "Then you'd better open the damn door."

Richie laughed at that, heat rising in him as he fumbled for his keys.

## 

6.

Amanda was spending a lazy morning in Duncan's loft, taking up space and soaking in Duncan's presence. She'd only planned to be here a few days, but now that it was time to leave, she found the idea unappealing.

The phone rang, and Duncan halted his breakfast preparation to wipe his hands clean and answer it. Amanda listened idly as she flipped through a magazine.

"Hey, Richie! How's the college life?" Duncan paused listening to whatever the young Immortal had to say. His expression moved from cheerful to disbelief.

Amanda sat up a little straighter, trying to maintain the fiction that she wasn't interested in the conversation while paying close attention to Duncan's side.

"She what?"

"How?"

"Me?? I didn't-"

There was a long pause after which Duncan exclaimed loudly, "She _broke_ in? When?!" Duncan glanced at her, and Amanda carefully ignored him.

"Yeah?" Duncan calmed down a little, his volume returning to normal. "Yeah."

He took a deep breath, looking at Amanda again. "Well, that's good, Rich. No, really, I like her. I'm glad it worked out."

Duncan spoke with Richie for a few more minutes, a fond look on his face. After saying his goodbyes, Duncan hung up the phone and immediately turned to her, waiting expectantly.

Amanda held out for as long as she could, then looked up innocently. "What?"

"Is there something you neglected to tell me?" He crossed his arms and stood with his feet slightly apart.

"No." She shook her head slowly, as if she was actually thinking about it. "I don't think so."

"About someone breaking into my place?" He prompted her suspiciously.

"Breaking into your place?" Faking surprise, Amanda sat up and affected a scandalized tone, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Duncan crossed to the couch, leaning in, his hands on the back and arms, trapping her. He met her gaze challengingly. "Amanda, I don't have that address written anywhere. He texted it to me, along with his new number. _Somebody_ gave it to her."

Amanda quit pretending. She waved a hand, "Richie was making a mistake."

Duncan stood up at the admission, and she took his hands in hers, suddenly full of energy, "Oh, Duncan, she's perfect for him! They'll be so cute together!"

"Of course they are," Duncan was irritated, "but it’s Richie’s choice."

" _Richie’s_ choice? What about hers?" She was devastated," Amanda was indignant, "She gets a say doesn’t she?"

Duncan's brow furrowed, "That is a load coming from either one of us, Amanda, and you know it." His tone softened, “Besides, I was _going_ to say something to Richie the next time he called, if Joe didn’t beat me to it. Angie was all he could talk about at dinner."

"Well, then." Amanda settled back down on the couch with a satisfied smile. "We're all agreed."

Duncan stared at her a minute more then gave up, leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"What’s that for?" Amanda eyed him curiously.

"For being you." His expression was warm.

"Oh, well then." Amanda preened a little, her smile broadening as she turned back to her magazine. Maybe a few more days in town wouldn't hurt anything.


End file.
